


murder/mourning takes two.

by lich_kid



Category: Buzzfeed - Fandom, Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, gonna post this now so i dont change my mind, i think i might die bc im writing RPF with my own two hands, im sorry, not explicitly ship for now although if you squint.., see the archive warning? yeah, someone kick me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lich_kid/pseuds/lich_kid
Summary: Shane was a skeptic, and Ryan was the believer. Both sarcastic, they had a tug and pull, ‘chemistry,’ as the directors at Buzzfeed put it. It was just the way they worked. Well. That’s how it was before.Or, this is an unfortunate, Shane-centric fic, and I'm a slut for angst. Wanted to try writing a fic that's a bit longer than my usual stuff, and more... personal? As it says, keep an eye on the tags, I'll try and keep them updated as the story continues. Sorry in advance, y'all.





	1. Chapter 1

The spirit box had always been one of Shane’s least favorite tools, to no one’s surprise or disbelief. Sure, it made for an interesting bit of ‘evidence’ he could poke and prod at but it was loud, invasive. Every time they went to some drafty, ill taken-care of mansion or penitentiary, nd Ryan turned on his god-forsaken noise box it felt to Shane like walking up to a funeral and joking to the parents of the deceased about how they died. Useless, loud, and it stabbed into the quiet around them like a knife. At the moment, it was in a cardboard box under his bed, along with other, random equipment and gear.

It was easy to joke about dead people. Call it morbid if you want, but humor is one of human’s natural defense mechanisms. After all, it’s easier to think about something horrible and make a tasteless joke than face it for what it was. Lord knows, no one ever think’s something horrific and horrible will happen to them until it does.

It was another demon house, of course. Ryan had been increasingly more and more scared the closer they drove, so much so that TJ asked if he was alright before they got the opening shots.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just uh, demons, yknow? This place feels horrible.”

There was a shake in his voice but Shane had just winked exaggeratedly and made a mock gesture of tipping his hat to the entrance of the building, a tall yet qaint old bed and breakfast inn.

“Well, you know what they say! Speak of the devil and the devil will appear. So, Lucy ol’ buddy, you better give me a kiss on the cheek or I’ll never believe, baby!”

And it was okay, because Ryan laughed his wheezing laugh, slightly less scared than before, which was all that Shane wanted with his stupid jokes.  
They’d spent most of the day getting outdoor shots, walking the grounds, as Ryan did his usual exposition, and some of the theories as they walked around landmarks. Shane’s favorite had been the small, old, lichen-covered stone statue just at the edge of the woods, where supposedly it had wept tears of blood on every eve of the murders. Unusually, Ryan skipped over the main story, sticking to odd facts about that night and tales of the supposedly numerous hauntings that now made the old inn a popular attraction for ghost hunters and tourists alike. It was easier to shoot this particular episode out of order, mostly because they only had tomorrow to spend the day and night, and they didn’t want to waste the time they had just idling about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane thinks about some things. Or tries not to, really.

Thinking made Shane sick to his stomach, and he barely made it to his hotel’s garbage can before he was hacking up what little he’d had to eat that morning, throat burning in response. He would’ve thrown up again if there was anything left in him the second he saw the cracked camera on the nightstand, but instead, he dropped onto his bed with the elegance of a stone and stared up at the ceiling, eyes catching on the rainwater stains. His bandages itched but he didn’t feel like moving, didn’t feel like feeling.

He woke up a few hours later, only aware of the passage of time because he drew up the blinds and found himself looking out over the desolate parking lot, wondering if he was still out there before the feeling of blood on his hands returned made him trudge to the bathroom, scrubbing under too-hot water until the skin felt raw like a wound. Looking down only made Ryan’s face flash beneath his eyelids, sweat beading his forehead and eyes so big you’d think he was dying dramatically on some cop show, the big reveal.

It only went away when Shane brought his hands up to his throat, fingers tracing the line that wound all the way around. Circumference, his brain helpfully supplied. Yes, like a deep purpleish-red marker had been pressed, drawn, pulled around his neck by a child or someone with unsteady hands, trying to do it quickly so he didn’t stop them, so they didn’t get caught.

When he brushed his teeth, he spit out blood again.

Shane went back to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something about the bridge, and the day, before. before anything, everything. before all of it.

His phone, Shane was sure, must be dead by now, if it hadn’t already been thrown to the bottom of a river.

Dragging himself out of bed, still as dressed as he was the day he booked the room, he headed to his bag and rummaged for hs laptop before setting it down on the table by the window and blearily blinking at the bright light, shining through until he turned the shades with a flick of his wrist.  
Googling the name of the inn, he wondered if they’d found anything yet. They’d had a “do not disturb” sign on their door, so maybe not. He remembered how Ryan had rolled his eyes at the suggestion, but hadn’t stopped him, using the excuse that they didn’t want to be disturbed during the night because it could interrupt their “prime time ghost hours.”

Shane had laughed at that one.

 

The bed had been small, even for bed and breakfast standards, he was sure. There was a small armchair in the corner, and Ryan offered to take it but Shane sat down in ot once and absolutely refused. They were both grown men, they could handle one night in the same bed, even if they had to, like, touch backs or whatever. It was fine.

They’d booked the most haunted room in the place, of course. They’d gotten there early, went to dinner with the rest of the occupants, including an older couple who had been so excited about spirits, Shane couldn’t have been less surprised when Ryan struck up a heated discussion with them, matching their combined passion easily. When he turned and introduced Shane, he’d easily joined the conversation, his skepticism this time being his ally and they all bickered playfully until the lights dimmed.

Turning on a projector, the rather grandmotherly old lady who owned the inn with her husband and their several children, some of whom were adopted, began explaining the history of the house. Ryan, who was sitting closer to everything than Shane was, nodded along, perking up when she began introducing the numerous ghosts that haunted the building, clicking through a few photos and pointing out where they’d been taken in the inn.

After the presentation, the guests were free to wander around the grounds, the building, wherever they liked, as long as they didn’t bother one another. Shane and Ryan talked it over, deciding it’d be good to get a few more shots of the bridge while the other guests

It was an imposing bridge, Shane had to admit. Huge, rusted metal, an old train bridge spanning the river but now too old and unsafe for trains running over it all the time, it now was mostly used as a landmark. As Ryan and Shane walked across it, there was a bit of aged graffitti here and there, and Shane managed to scare Ryan a bit into thinking the boards were rotten enough to give way beneath them, but it had held them both and the camera crew, so it was fine.

They had made their way back to the inn by the light of the setting sun, and Shane could still clearly see the shine of teeth Ryan had flashed him at whatever dumb joke he’d made, giving him a playful shove that hadn’t really made him fall, but he pretended to keel over dead just to make the other laugh.

It was summer, but the evening wasn’t all that made Shane feel warm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a part about shane's shoes.

Shane’s feet ached.

Not that it was the only thing that hurt, of course, he still occasionally few drops of blood managing to bloom through his bandaged, no matter how tightly he wrapped them. And his ribs, jesus. It felt like someone had dropped a chunk of cement onto his chest, then kicked him in the side for good measure. Maybe because- No, that train of memory was too big right now. If Shane thought about the dark, the- it was just too big. It was a yawning chasm beneath his feet and if he took that step, he didn’t think if he’d manage to scrape his way out again. Not this time.

He went downstairs, to the foyer, where the last few folks were slowly getting up, cleaning up after eating breakfast. Picking up a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, Shane retreated back to his room, avoiding every gaze in his direction. He could almost hear their thoughts, taking in the state of his clothes, the bruises, his hands, his throat. Just thinking about it made his hand rub at the line unconsciously, until he needed to press the button for the elevator, and then he willed himself to let it drop to his side. Choking down the piece of toast and taking a sip of the bitter coffee, because, of course, he hadn’t grabbed any sugar, Shane stared down at the floor of the elevator, eyes tracing the stale floral design before his eyes eventually made their way to his shoes.

They were dusty, and he turned them slowly from side to side, admiring how even dry, the blood managed to look so dark against the black leather of his shoes. They weren’t his, he’d bought them on the way to the hotel. He missed his boots.

The elevator dinged, and he stepped out onto his floor, nearly knocking over the suitcase of a woman waiting for the elevator far too close to the doors. Opening his mouth, he offered a quiet “Sorry” before turning heel and desperately trying to escape the sound he himself had made.

It was the first word he’d said for four days, and it sounded more like a tortured animal than it did a word, and it sounded so unlike his own voice that Shane couldn’t fucking hear it, he couldn’t hear that, not here, not in front of the lady who’s frown turned into something softer. Her voice went past him in the form of a question, but he shut the door behind him before he let himself listen to it.

He finished his coffee and reopened his laptop, screen brightening to show where he’d left off before. The website for the inn. He’d looked it up, took one look at the home page, and fell to the floor shuddering and gasping for air. When he managed to stand again, he shut the laptop so hard he vaguely wondered if he broke it, and went to curl up in the bathtub.

But this time, he managed to click through the website without losing it completely. The coffee hadn’t stopped his hands from shaking, but it gave him the energy to ensure that no, they hadn’t found anything yet. It’d be in the papers, he was sure. He was sort of glad he didn’t have his phone, otherwise it’d be ringing off the hook.

Shane took a shower, something in the back of his head weakly wishing he had a clean pair of clothes to change into, but he redressed into his torn, bloodstained clothes. He left his jacket off, though. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he stared at his hands. Forearms bandaged, a cut near the bottom of his left thumb that looked suspiciously red and shiny, and the fingertips of both hands that looked like they’d been run through a meat grinder.

But none of that really mattered. Shane thought about crying, but something in him just… locked in place. Even though he knew it would be some sort of release, some sort of closure, he just. Couldn’t. After a while, he gave up, instead passing the time leafing through the booklet of local attractions until he managed to fall asleep once more.

But he wasn’t tired enough to sleep dreamlessly, it seemed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shane remembers a bit more.

Shane woke up screaming, hands scrabbling at something wrapping around his neck that wasn’t there anymore, hadn’t been for days.

The mouthful of water felt like someone poured bleach down his throat, but Shane knew it was better to drink it than spit it out.

He remembered spitting out blood, yes, right onto a pair of boots just like his own. Remembered the feeling of a hand in his hair, the only comfort that person could offer. Yes, that was safe enough. That person. Could be anyone, could be a stranger. Anyone would reach for another person in that kind of situation, anyone would find solace, offer comfort, if they weren’t alone.

This time Shane made it to the bathroom before he turned inside out again. He was all alone now.

\---

Him and Ryan had gone to bed, laughing a bit at how small the bed was. I mean, really, it was almost ridiculous, forcing them to go back-to-back just to avoid falling of the edge of the bed. They’d moved around, eventually ending up on their backs, Shane’s arm reached across the tiny bed and Ryan resting against the crook of his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, Ryan, its either this or one of us is falling off the bed. It’s just one night, I think we’ll survive.”

Ryan had rolled his eyes at that, then rolled onto his side and used Shane’s outstretched arm as a pillow, saying he just wanted to sleep already. It was different to sleep pressed against each other, but Shane didn’t ask if it was weird, and neither did Ryan.

He woke up to the feeling of Ryan sitting up in bed, shifting a little before finally standing and leaving the room. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours after they’d gone to bed, so maybe 3? Shane squinted at his phone screen, confirming it was 3:12 before grabbing his jacket and shoving the phone in a pocket, not bothering to put on his shoes as he padded down the narrow hallway. Ryan didn’t usually do anything while they were shooting, anything like this, at least, without bringing it up with Shane, so he was reasonably a bit concerned.

He found him standing outside a little ways from the inn, hands shoved in his pockets and staring at the ground by his feet with an unreadable expression on his face. Starting from Shane’s hand on his shoulder, he tried to play it off like he hadn’t been startled.

“W-what are you doing out here?”

Shane quirked a brow, lowering the hand that had been hovering with uncertainty after being bucked off Ryan’s shoulder.

“You read my mind, Ry, just what I was gonna ask you. Can’t sleep? Could’ve just told me, y‘know.”

Ryan sighed, turning away from him a bit.

“Figured you were already asleep, didn’t want to bother you. But yeah I just, wanted some fresh air. You know, they never caught the guy. That murdered all the people in the inn, they never caught him. Didn’t even find the murder weapon.”

The taller man shrugged, following Ryan’s example and shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Well, it’s not unsolved for nothing. You think the guy that did it stuck around? Maybe he’s watching us right now, just waiting for the right moment to strike.”

With the last word, he poked Ryan gently in the shoulder, breaking out into a grin as the other gasped, whirling around to punch him in the shoulder.

“You’re such an asshole, dude! And for the record, if he did stick around, he’d probably go for you. More his type, big sasquatch like you.”

Shane merely chuckled in response, pretending to rub his ‘injured’ shoulder in mock pain. Still, it seemed to do the job, Ryan looking more sleepy than before. After a sigh that Shane couldn’t interpret, he nodded, and they both made their way back inside and tumbled into the bed. This time, the taller man waited until he heard Ryan’s deep, sleep-breathing until he too, followed suit into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ryan pulls a joke. or maybe he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo, im back! sorry for being gone for a bit, y'all, writing's been a little slow :/ ive got a bad habit of making things a lot longer than i planned, rip.

It had been fine, until Shane suggested they visit the local cemetary. It was supposedly haunted too, about a 2 hour drive from the inn, so it wasn’t too far. Ryan had been ather excited about the idea, especially because they hadn’t done a cemetary bit before and they all agreed it’d be a good addition to the episode since it was looking a bit shorter than they wanted.

The crew this time had to stay behind, though, TJ hadn’t been feeling well enough and their other cameraman came down with a migraine, so it was up to the boys to remember to get enough shots to pick and choose when it was edited. The car ride had been a bit subdued but Shane and Ryan’s quips and jabs were not to be stopped by something as simple as a few less people around, Shane had even joked that maybe they’d stumblr on a grave with Ryan’s name on.

It was nauseating to think about.

Despite the humid, warm day, it was pretty damn brisk when they stepped outside the car, and not even fifteen minutes when by when Shane decided he had had enough and returned to the vehicle to retrieve his jacket. Ryan, trailing behind him but distracted by the tombstones, had been a few steps away when Shane’s back was turned. As he reached for his jacket, he’d heard some strange, half-choked noise, and he turned slowly for comedic effect with his mouth already forming the words to some joke before he froze, eyes squinting in confusion.

Where the fuck did Ryan go? He was absolutely sure there was nowhere he could’ve gone, not that fast, so he walked around the car, the only thing nearest that his friend could’ve possible hid but.. Nothing. Until he turned the corner and suddenly, harsh footsteps on gravel startled Shane, and in the dark he couldn’t match the desperate pace ahead of him, disappearing across the street into the bushes, the overgrown ditch beside the road.

He’d already clicked on his flashlight, scanning the grass, as he called out, face stormy.

“Ryan? If this is a joke, I’m not fucking into it. Stop fucking around, I’m freezing and I want to get back to the inn and get some goddamn sleep.”

Not that it was that late, but, they’d left when it was already dark, and he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic at the idea of crawling around in the dew-wet bushes for a laugh. But after another twenty minutes of yelling into the quiet darkness and waving his light, there was no response. Sighing, Shane squatted, swinging his flashlight one last time in hopes of catching sight of the other man, probably lying belly first int the middle of some thorny plants, but it really seemed like Ryan was…. Gone.

“Alright, guess I’m the only one out here! Ryan, feel free to sleep in the cemetary but I’m leaving. Believe me, I’ll leave your ass in the cold in a heartbeat.”

To punctuate his point, Shane had climbed into the driver seat of the car, starting it up and shouting out the open door. He had to admit, as a last resort, this didn’t seem to be as effective as he’d wanted. Oh well. Slamming his door shut, he irritatedly thrust the car into gear and peeled out into the main road, beeping a few times in hopes of scaring Bergara out of whatever hole he crawled into. When that had failed, too, he’d put in a call to TJ and got out again dejectedly, shivering in the cold.

Ryan knew when a joke went too far, and this? This was way over the line. But he supposed it achieved what he’d wanted, as he started making his way into the bush where he’d last heard the footsteps.

“Fuck you, Bergara! I’m gonna make the next episode of the Hotdaga an hour long for this.”

Muttering loudly as he made a face at the cold wet of the plants, he found himself following a small trail that he hadn’t seen before, probably a deer trail. Soon he was at the edge of the woods, and he’d clicked off his flashlight to conserve battery, since it was harder to see where he was going with it going all over the place as he tried to bat away the brush and not drop it at the same time. Past the first line of trees, the plants thinned a bit, and he clicked it back on, freezing in place as his light landed on the face of Ryan.

Who was lying on the ground, bound by the hands and feet, and bleeding from the back of his head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shane needs a drink.

When Shane woke up, curled up fully-dressed in the middle of his too-big hotel bed, he decided he could use a drink. Which was why, at 9 am, he was sitting in a booth at the local diner, nursing a beer and hoping vaguely the bartender wouldn’t call the police. He wouldn’t blame him, really, considering his appearance, but he didn’t have long to wonder as the bartender slid into the seat across from him. An older man, with a bristly graying moustache and large, sturdy-looking hands, he’d been sleaning the counter top when Shane had walked in. Serving a beer with no more than a curious eye glancing him over, he’d accepted Shane’s rumpled bill without question. Seemed like he had questions now, though, having finished cleaning the bar and studying Shane across the booth with an unreadable expression.

“You alright, son? Looks like you’ve had a rough coupla’ nights.”

Shane would’ve laughed, if his throat hadn’t been screaming, pulsing with pain at the moment. Nodding and taking a sip of his drink, he stared at the man’s hands instead of his face. When it was clear he wouldn’t get more response than that, the bartender extended a hand across the table.

“The name’s Tom. I’ll get you something to eat, looks like ya’ could use it. ‘S long as you promise not to stir up any trouble, alright? That and your next drink’ll be on the house.”

Before Shane could refuse, the man was already sliding out of the booth and in the kitchen. While Shane knew he looked like shit, this was a whole new level. Or maybe people around here were just more hospitable. Besides, he knew he should eat something. It’d been almost a week since the last time he’d eaten properly, the last few days consisting of coffee and the occasional piece of toast he snagged downstairs for breakfast. He just hoped he’d be able to focus on NOT remembering, keep the food down.

The next thing he knew, Tom’s wide hand was gently shaking his shoulder, pulling him up a bit and handing him a napkin at the small puddle of spit that’d gathered on the table beneath his head. Setting down a large plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and a tall glass of milk, he nodded at the food.

“Eat. There’s more in the kitchen if you want some, but I’m not letting you out of here until that plate is clean, understood?”

Shane nodded numbly, staring at the plate in front of him with the emptiest expression one could imagine. But, after a moment, he took up the fork and began shoveling eggs mechanically into his mouth. He couldn’t have been less hungry, but he knew he should eat something, and it was far easier to follow orders than it was to think, to argue, to refuse.

After a few hours, Shane found himself on the bridge, staring at the dark water rushing far, far below. Unbidden, the vision of Ryan, bloated and pale and rope still cutting deep into his flesh, floated by him, until Shane was pinwheeling his arms in the air one moment and feeling iron smash against his spine as he stepped backwards, heel catching in the railroad tracks. The cold of metal slunk through his thin shirt, feeling weirdly good against the pounding, horrible aching of his back. He lay there, unmoving, for a few hours, the sun feeling warm against his skin and the sound of moving water soothing, and he almost dazed off until he shifted his arm the wrong way and, fuck, he could feel the bandages coming loose almost immediately. They’d snagged on a sharp chip of wood of some old, rotting board that made up the bottom of the bridge, so he sat up, looking over the damage.

He probably needed to change them anyway.


End file.
